“But what were her ankles like?” interrupted his lordship.

Mr Trevor blushed, and laughed. “I didn’t see her ankles, sir, for she remained in the carriage. I was particularly struck by the sweetness of her expression, and her soft voice. In fact, there is something very taking about her — if you know what I mean!”

“I have a very fair notion.”

“Yes, well — well, when she leaned forward, and smiled, and begged me to give the letter to you, I promised her I would do so — even though I knew you wouldn’t be above half pleased!”

“You wrong me, Charles. I confess you haven’t aroused the smallest desire in me to make Miss Merriville’s acquaintance, but I must certainly meet her companion. Who, by the way, is she?”

“I am not perfectly sure, sir, but I fancy she might be Miss Merriville’s sister, though she is not at all like her. Miss Merriville called her Charis.”

“That confirms me in my dislike of Miss Merriville. Of all abominable abbreviations I think Carrie the most repulsive!”

“No, no!” expostulated Mr Trevor. “You misunderstood me, sir! Of course it isn’t Carrie! Miss Merriville distinctly said Charis! And I thought that never was anyone more aptly named, for it means ‘grace,’ you know — from the Greek!”

“Thank you, Charles,” said his lordship meekly. “Where should I be without you?”

“I thought you might have forgotten, sir — your memory being so bad!”

The Marquis acknowledged this demure hit by lifting one of his strong, slender hands in a fencer’s gesture. “Very well, Charles — damn your impudence!”

Encouraged, Mr Trevor said: “Miss Merriville said she hoped you would call in Upper Wimpole Street, sir: will you?”

“I daresay — if you can assure me that I shall find the beautiful Charis there.”

Mr Trevor was unable to do this, but he knew better than to urge the matter further, and withdrew, not unhopeful of the issue.